Read The Duchess and Desperado Online
Authors: Laurie Grant
Tags: #Romance, #Historical Romance, #Nineteenth Century, #American West, #Protector
The Duchess and Desperado (28 page)
He watched as Sarah gave him a wan smile and left She'd been on the verge of tears, he suspected. The violet shadows under her eyes made him think she'd spent a lot of sleepless nights lately. She hadn't mentioned the sensational newspaper articles shredding
her
good name, of course. In the press the two of them had been tagged “the Duchess and the Desperado.” One article had even speculated that she was carrying her bandit-lover's child. He didn't figure
that
was true, of course; it had been six weeks since they'd made love in the Apache encampment, and he hadn't seen any of the signs a woman showed when she was
enceinte. Lord, what I wouldn't give, though, to have a baby girl with her mama's golden curls... or a boy with her blue eyes....
her
good name, of course. In the press the two of them had been tagged “the Duchess and the Desperado.” One article had even speculated that she was carrying her bandit-lover's child. He didn't figure
that
was true, of course; it had been six weeks since they'd made love in the Apache encampment, and he hadn't seen any of the signs a woman showed when she was
enceinte. Lord, what I wouldn't give, though, to have a baby girl with her mama's golden curls... or a boy with her blue eyes....
“Mr. Calhoun, perhaps we'd better get started?” Quinn suggested.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
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“I
t's beautiful, isn't it?” Sarah murmured as she dismounted from Trafalgar and gazed at the vast expanse of rolling ranch land stretching in front of her. In the distance, perhaps a quarter of a mile distant, she could see a freestone house nestled at the foot of a trio of hills. Next to the house she caught the gleam of a creek flanked by cottonwoods. “No wonder Morgan loves it so.” Indeed, she could see him here, with a pasture full of sleek horsesâa few of them pintos like his stallion. She could picture her beloved mare there, too, cropping the lush grass down by the creek, her half thoroughbred, half pinto foal frolicking at its mother's side.
t's beautiful, isn't it?” Sarah murmured as she dismounted from Trafalgar and gazed at the vast expanse of rolling ranch land stretching in front of her. In the distance, perhaps a quarter of a mile distant, she could see a freestone house nestled at the foot of a trio of hills. Next to the house she caught the gleam of a creek flanked by cottonwoods. “No wonder Morgan loves it so.” Indeed, she could see him here, with a pasture full of sleek horsesâa few of them pintos like his stallion. She could picture her beloved mare there, too, cropping the lush grass down by the creek, her half thoroughbred, half pinto foal frolicking at its mother's side.
“Yeah, it is right pretty,” said Jackson Stoner, still on his horse. Without telling him why, she'd asked him to accompany her and her uncle to Calhoun Crossing, and had been surprised when he had been willing to do so without an explanation.
“Well, I suppose it's all right, if one likes cactus and scrubby little mesquite trees,” Lord Halston said, getting out of the carriage he had insisted on riding in. “Personally, I prefer the majestic oaks and beeches of an English forest.”
Sarah hid a smile of amusement. Uncle Frederick was an Englishman through and through, and wouldn't be happy until he was home again.
The four of themâfor Celia had been adamant about coming with Sarah to see to her needsâhad had no difficulty following Morgan's directions to the ranch that had once been known as the Flying C. Now the name Tackett arched over the gate in black wrought iron.
Trafalgar nickered, and then Sarah noticed the rider galloping in their direction from the barn at the side of the house.
“Here comes the welcoming committee,” she remarked, wondering if the rider was Carl Tackett himself, the man who had schemed to take Morgan's land, finally succeeding when Morgan was accused of murder and the army payroll robbery.
Lord Halston harrumphed. “I cannot imagine why I allowed you to talk me into this wild-goose chase just to see this place Calhoun once owned. It's not as if he has much hope of ever possessing it again, niece, even in the unlikely event that he is declared innocent of the murder and the payroll robbery. There are all those other robberies you say he did admit to, aren't there?”
Sarah was silent, aware that Stoner was listening intently, no doubt hoping to get a clue about why he'd been asked to accompany them. It
was
important to her to see the land Morgan had grown up on, but she hoped for so much more. She desperately needed this trip to turn out to be more than a wild-goose chase! And she just couldn't spend another day in Austin, fruitlessly counting the hours between visits to Morgan at his jail cell in Camp Austin, and the days until the trial would start. She just had to
do
something, and some instinct had prompted her to come here, to the place the man she loved had called home.
was
important to her to see the land Morgan had grown up on, but she hoped for so much more. She desperately needed this trip to turn out to be more than a wild-goose chase! And she just couldn't spend another day in Austin, fruitlessly counting the hours between visits to Morgan at his jail cell in Camp Austin, and the days until the trial would start. She just had to
do
something, and some instinct had prompted her to come here, to the place the man she loved had called home.
“Afternoon, folks.” The man, who wore the simple, rough garb of a cowboy, greeted them from the back of his mount when he reined in just inside the gate. “Are you lost? This here's Tackett land, and he don't encourage visitors.”
Sarah, disappointed that the man wasn't Tackett, put on her most charming smile. “Yes, and we wouldn't dream of entering without permission,” she told him. “Actually, I was hoping your employer might allow me to visit him and see a typical Texas ranch house.”
“And who might you be, ma'am?” the cowboy asked. His voice wasn't encouraging.
“I am the Duchess of Malvern, and this is my uncle, the Marquess of Kennington,” she said, gesturing in Uncle Frederick's direction.
The cowboy didn't look the least impressed. “The boss don't like no visitors,” he repeated, and began to rein his horse around as if that was his final word on the subject.
“But wait!” Sarah cried. “Surely, after we've come so far, you'd at least tell him we're here? IâI have a business proposition for him,” she said, thinking fast. What would Tackett say if she offered to buy the ranch from him? Wouldn't that give Morgan a much-needed infusion of hope, knowing she was keeping it for him?
The cowboy pushed his hat back off his forehead and said, “Listen, Lady Whoever-you-are, the boss hears what goes on in Austin. He told me if you showed up I was to tell you he knows all about the trial and about Calhoun's fancy English mistress. His wife is dyin', an' he's got more important things to do than jaw with you.”
Sarah felt her face flame at the cowboy's rudeness, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Stoner bristle, his hand drifting down toward his gun.
“Now just one moment, my good man...” she heard her uncle sputtering behind her.
She held up a hand behind her, hoping it would signal Uncle Frederick to subside. “Please convey my respects to your employer,” she said in a voice that sounded miraculously even-tempered to her ears. “I had no idea his wife was ill. And please tell him we will be staying overnight at the hotel in town, should he wish to change his mind and come see me.”
The cowboy said nothing more, just nodded and spurred his horse into a gallop.
She was aware of the surprise on Stoner's face, but he said nothing, waiting.
“Sarah, what on earth are you thinking of?” growled her uncle. “I have no desire to pass the night in that barbarous wide spot in the road they call a town, and in any case, it's obvious Tackett has no wish to meet you.”
“No, it didn't sound as if he did, uncle,” she said, hating the fact that her uncle had heard her called Morgan's “fancy English mistress.” “But the woman who can testify that Morgan was with her the entire night of the payroll robbery may still be living in that town, and if she is, I'm going to find her. You may return to Austin if you'd be more comfortable, uncle. I shall be all right with Celia to help me,” she said, nodding in the direction of the carriage, where her servant was still sitting.
Frederick, Lord Halston, rolled his eyes heavenward. “I trust I know my duty, Sarah, even if you seem to have forgotten yours. As the oldest member of your family, I shall stay with you and watch over you, of course.”
“Fine, uncle. Perhaps we'd better be going, then, since Mr. Tackett won't see us. And it's just as well we aren't going back to Austin today,” she said, pointing to the clouds gathering to the northwest. “It looks like they're in for some rain.”
“So that's what you're up to, Duchess,” Stoner murmured. “Trying to find an alibi for your outlaw for that one night. But even if you do, there's all those other robberies, just like your uncle said.”
“Of course you're right, Mr. Stoner,” Sarah said, “but one must make a start, mustn't one?”
Sending her uncle and Celia to secure a pair of rooms in the shabby-looking Calhoun Crossing Hotel, Sarah, accompanied by a bemused Stoner, began going door-to-door to the businesses and residences on the town's main street, interviewing anyone who would admit to ever knowing Morgan Calhoun. Everyone, it seemed, remembered Morgan Calhoun with a fondness tempered by a fascinated awe that he was now such a notorious outlaw. They wished Morgan well, they told herâthey hoped he was cleared of the murder, at least, so he wouldn't have to stay in prison too many years. But no one seemed to know who the woman was that Morgan had been with when the army payroll stage was robbedâor at least, no one would admit it if they knew.
Discouraged, Sarah returned with Stoner to the hotel, which was little more than a glorified boardinghouse, just in time to eat the supper of stringy roast beef that was all that was available in the hotel dining room. By now the rainstorm had reached the town, and the rain pounding at the fly-specked windows and the accompanying rumbles of thunder seemed a fitting background for the despair that etched her heart. She had accomplished nothing today, nothing to help Morgan
Later that evening Sarah was in her room, sitting in her chemise and pantalets while Celia brushed out Sarah's abundant blond hair and clucked over her suntanned face.
“We'll have to bathe your face with cream and lemon every day if we ever hope to restore your complexionâ”
Just then they heard footsteps, followed by a knocking at her door. Thinking it was her uncle come to bid her good-night and groan once more over the discomforts of his room, Sarah flung her dressing gown around her shoulders and bid Celia to let Lord Halston in.
To her surprise, however, it was a black woman, rather than Uncle Frederick, standing at the door.
“You the duchess?” the woman asked her without preamble. At Sarah's startled nod, she added, “I'm Daisy, Miz Tackett's maid. She's downstairs, and she wants to talk to you.”
Before a surprised Sarah could say anything, Celia spoke up behind her. “Show your mistress upstairs,” she said with the arrogance of one servant to another. “Her grace was just preparing for bed, as you can see.”
The black woman frowned at Celia, then said to Sarah, “Miz Tackett, she cain't climb no stairs. You want to see her, you have to come down, Miz Duchess.”
“It's all right, Daisy, I'll see her,” Sarah interrupted. “Just give me a moment.” She was intrigued. Tackett's wife was supposedly dying.... Why had she come to see her?
Five minutes later Sarah, accompanied by Celia, who was clutching a lighted kerosene lamp, descended the rickety stairs into the darkness of the lower floor. The sight of a light flickering in the parlor led them there, and they found Daisy standing guard over a shawl-swathed figure sitting hunched over in a wheeled chair.
Sarah immediately went over to the figure. “Mrs. Tackett, I'm Sarah Challoner. It's very good of you to call on me,” she said, holding out her hand.
Just then Celia succeeded in lighting the other lamp in the room, and with the increased illumination chasing the shadows from the dark room, Sarah could see that the cowboy had not exaggerated the situation. Mrs. Tackett was indeed dying. Her pearly-pale flesh was stretched tautly over protruding bones, and her eyes looked like the only part of her that still lived. It was impossible to tell whether she'd once been a beauty or not. But the hand that took Sarah's, while cool and faintly clammy, had a surprisingly strong grip.
“Call me Nora,” the woman said, her voice rasping in between labored breaths. “I...I overheard...one of my husband's ranch hands...telling him you'd come today. I...I know he didn't let you in. IâI'm sorry.”
“It's all right, Nora,” Sarah said gently, kneeling beside the chair so that the woman didn't have to try to speak any louder. “He said you were...you were ill, and I can well understand not wanting to meet strangersâ”
“Oh, I'm ill, all right,” the woman said, with a flutter of her hand indicating her shrunken frame. “It's a cancer, the doctor tells me. But Carl...that's my husband.. he wouldn't have wanted me to...talk to you anyhow.”
“Oh?” Sarah said, hoping to encourage her to get right to the point. It didn't look as if the woman had too much breath to spare.
Nora Tackett nodded. “I had to wait... until Carl passed out from his drinking...like he always does...of an evening. Then I had Daisy sneak me out of the house.”
“Why, Nora? Why, when you're so sick?”
The woman managed a wan smile. “I'm not just sickâI'm dyin'. I might have a few days left...I can't eat nothin' now. Even Daisy's chicken broth won't stay down....” She shrugged. “I heard what happened to Morgan, how he got jailed in Austin ..about the trial.... I reckon I just wanted to set things right before I go an' meet my Maker.”
Behind her, Daisy moaned. “Now, don't you go talkin' that way, Miz Nora. You the finest womanâ”
“Hush, Daisy.” She paused, and she seemed to gather strength, for her voice was no longer whispery and hesitant. “But a few years back I could've spoken up and told the men who came to arrest Morgan that he'd been with me in my bed all night, so he couldn't have been the one who robbed the stage. It was the truth, I swear itâas God is about to be my judge.”
Sarah sat back on her heels, rocked by the revelation that Tackett's wife was the very woman who had been Morgan's sweetheart, the very woman who could have given Morgan an alibi for the night the army payroll was stolen.
Behind her, the black woman began to weep.
“But I didn't tell,” Nora Tackett continued, “because I knew if I did, everyone in town would know I wasn't the innocent girl I pretended to be. Oh, I wanted Morgan Calhoun, all rightâI'd even been engaged to him onceâbut when he came back from the war people started talkin' about how he'd been raiding with Mosby during the war, and how wild he'd been and probably still was. IâI could see it was only a matter of time before he was accused of something, and I was...afraid. I knew Carl Tackett wanted to marry me, and I wanted to be the wife of a man with land. And once Morgan fled town, it wasn't long till Carl owned the Flying C,” Nora Tackett continued.
“But...if Morgan didn't steal the payroll and kill the stage driver, who did?” asked Sarah.
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